


Wakey wakey, my dear snakey

by MarisFerasi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awake The Snake, Aziraphale Eats Out, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley gets lavished upon, Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Crowley's pandemic nap, July 1, M/M, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25007872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarisFerasi/pseuds/MarisFerasi
Summary: Shut up about the title, I suck at titles :'DAziraphale goes to Crowley's flat in a strop on July 1st and sets some things straight about double-speech and sets some new expectations in the New Arrangement of Things Between Them.Or: by, "that would be against the rules, my dear," Aziraphale meant "you break the rules on principle so of course come over at once and get me sloshed and shag me blind, you idiot." and Crowley apparently did not take it that way, and Aziraphale is madt.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 168
Collections: Aziraphale/Crowley Smut Library





	Wakey wakey, my dear snakey

**Author's Note:**

> Hi my name is Maris, I'm an idiot and started a new fic at 9:30 pm before my longest day of the week Just Because.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed some tropey idiot smut, I love them and cannot be contained.

Aziraphale steps off the lift in Crowley's building and goes to the nondescript, graphite-dark door marked 8. He would typically give a wry smile to the tiny snake wound up to shape the number, but today he is Annoyed. 

Oh yes, this here angel is in a right strop, and Crowley is about to hear about it. 

The angel pushes through the door, which is warded to open for him and him _only_ , while the ex-tempter is napping. 

Apparently he had taken himself up on the offer for a three month siesta after their chat on the phone. 

See, the funny thing about their system of double-speak is that while it absolutely left the door open for plausible deniability if they were ever interrogated by their respective head offices, it also left and entire bay window open for miscommunication and frustration. So, when on the phone in March Aziraphale has said "oh no, dear, that would be _breaking the rules_ ," he meant: "of course you should come over, you break rules just by existing, you idiot, now do kindly bring over some wine and get me three sheets to the wind and then roger me blind on those sheets." 

What Crowley heard was, "I know we're finally safe, but I still have rules to stick to, so not yet, demon." And he'd promptly taken a depression nap to hide from that let-down. 

Aziraphale huffs into the echoing grey silence of the flat and scowls at the lack of reply. He removes his gabardine coat and drapes it over a spindly chair, stomps through to the den, past the green room, down the hall, and to the swiveling door that opens into Crowley's bedroom. Just outside in the hall is the sculpture of angels wrestling and, Aziraphale pauses to think, that is probably the most appropriate place for it aside from right on the bloody bedside itself. 

Or perhaps above the fireplace, a conversation starter. Or ice breaker. _Please, Crowley, do bugger me boneless on this ungodly stiff sofa, that's about all it's good for._

Aziraphale shakes his head at himself and presses the door open carefully. It is halfway through July 1, and Crowley is _still sleeping_. Now, this may not be a catastrophic imbalance of the nature of the world to most, but to an angel who has been incredibly understimulated by his ~~hereditary enemy~~ _best friend_ for several months, unable to eat out or see a show or _anything_ he typically indulges in, this overstretched absence is _quite_ a thorn in one's side. 

"Crowley." Aziraphale says quietly, not wanting to scare the demon awake. 

Crowley does not stir. 

"Now really, my dear. Wake up." Aziraphale comes to the bed and jostles it a bit. " _Crowley_."

He sits on the edge and leans in, peering at the demon in the near-blackness of his den-like room. On that painfully familiar, handsome face, a tiny smile cracks at the edge of an open, slack, _sleeping_ mouth. Aziraphale can't help but smile a bit in return, an unintentional reaction. 

"Oh, dear boy, do wake up. You've made your point and then some, I daresay. Please don't leave me alone for another eighty years over a miscommunication." Aziraphale hates hearing the uncertainty tinge his voice but there it is. Crowley frowns in his sleep and curves against the angel's side, murmuring something and then snoring loudly on the next breath. "Oh, you ghastly thing. Wake _up_!" 

Aziraphale reaches forward and cards his fingers through the demon's hair, which he's been letting go these months in lockdown. It's unbearably soft, and Crowley makes an equally soft noise when he scratches lightly at his scalp. "Crowley." 

"Hmmmrrf?"

"Wake up, darling. It's July." He prods the demon's shoulder again and then goes back to his hair. He's wanted his hands in those red locks for _veritable eons_. 

Crowley makes a low, gritty sound in his throat and stretches, his long body going longer as his toes point and his arms go up and hands bang against the headboard, and several somethings crackle and pop in his middle. The demon groans with it and pops a fully- yellow eye open to stare up at Aziraphale, unblinking and curious. "Wassamatter, angel?" He asks, bleary and struggling to gain alertness. The angel watches as the yellow shrinks quickly down to a standard iris-size as Crowley gains wakefulness and wills it down into submission. 

"Nothing's the matter, you layabout, get up. We need to have a talk. I'm rather put out with you at the moment." Aziraphale sniffs and gets up, immediately regrets removing his hand from Crowley's hair, and scurries off to find a kettle. 

"Alright. That's...a thing." Crowley frowns after the angel and rolls out of bed, snapping bottoms and a soft top on himself. He'll be damned (further) over getting fully dressed in his own home after a long nap. 

Aziraphale is pouring water into two mugs, steeping a dark Lapsang Sauchong for Crowley (dark, smoky, oversweetened) and is stirring up an instant cocoa for himself (which will find itself to be quite a bit creamier than it ought to rightly be, momentarily). Crowley sits on a barstool at the island and waits. 

"You misunderstood me, back then, over the phone," Aziraphale blurts, getting straight to the point. "We should shuck this habit of not saying what we mean. We don't have to lie anymore to avoid suspicion." 

"Alright," Crowley shrugs, sipping at his tea. "What did you mean by 'we can't'?" 

"I meant for you to come over and quarantine with me, you idiot. We could have had a great time these last few months together and you decided to _mope_ instead because I said something that _would have made sense to you a year ago_." 

"Yes, and now when you say you dont want me around it means something entirely different from the plausible deniability you used to adhere to _before_." Crowley retorts, plainly. "You know I would have come. I could have literally popped over, _through the phone even_ , no humans to tempt by seeing me venture outside." 

"Well. I made the decision for you, now. It's July, and I wanted to be with you this whole time so instead of leaving room for stupidity and misunderstandings, I came over myself."

"I can see that." 

"Now. I think we can agree that from now on we need to speak plainly about what we want, yes?" 

"Sure, angel." 

"Well then. You first, because I _know_ you've been after something from me for a very long time now." 

Crowley makes a soft sound that comes out almost like a whine and stares at his mug of tea. 

"I promise you I won't be more ribald than mine," Aziraphale encourages with an almost-shy grin, which makes the demon swallow hard and perk up a bit. 

"I love you," he blurts, turning a rather fetching shade of red. 

"Well, yes, of course you do," Aziraphale tuts. "I rather think that came and went at least a few hundred years ago, on both our sides. Is that all?"

"Nnn... I want to be around you more. Maybe just like... _be_ in the same place." 

"Now we're getting somewhere. Is it my turn yet? Because I rather think my current desire solves that issue and _then some_." Aziraphale's eyes turn a bit mischievous then, glittering at him across the worktop, and Crowley finds himself drawn in like a moth to the holy glow of the angel's energy. 

"Wh-what is it, angel? I'll always give you anything, you know that." 

Aziraphale smiles, both knowing and indulgent, and comes around to stand between the demon's splayed knees. He reaches carefully up and twines a loop of red curls around a finger, cups the sharp jawbone in the other, and tips Crowley's face up. "Kiss me." 

Crowley lets out a tiny exhale and then lunges up and forward, whimpering into the kiss as Aziraphale takes him apart with tongue and teeth. Strong hands grip his narrow hips, pinning them together from shoulder to thigh, and Crowley arches into it. 

"My dear, I would very much like to eat you out, fuck you until we collapse, and then take you home. Is that clear enough?" Aziraphale pants into the demon's mouth, kneading his arse with both hands now. Crowley is hard with want already and aching for friction against Aziraphale's thigh. 

"Hell's _teeth_ , angel, _yes_!" he cries, growling when Aziraphale grips him tighter and spins him around to spread the redhead over the worktop. 

Aziraphale pulls down the silky bottoms Crowley had manifested and wastes no time at all trailing his fingers up the backs of those lean, _long_ legs until he can grip each lightly-furred cheek and lift and separate with his thumbs, baring the demon's furled, pink opening. "I'm going to _feast_ on you until you come, my dear, and then take you to bed and wear you thoroughly out with my cock. And then _you and your plants are coming to the bookshop_ until we can decide on somewhere else to be, _together_." 

"Thank you for the _itinerary_ ," Crowley bites out, fingers scrabbling on the slate countertop as the angel's breath ghosts over his exposed hole. "Fucking-- _come on angel, please_?" 

Without more warning than incoming heat, Aziraphale licks a firm stripe up Crowley's crevice from just under his balls to tailbone and then buries his face as deep as possible in the damp heat of it.

"Oh- _fffffff_!" Crowley hisses and lurches up to his toes, hips canting up so that the angel has better access to as much as possible. Aziraphale slides a hand between Crowley's thighs and wraps his hand around the demon's slim cock, tugging firmly as he plunges his tongue into the opening from behind. "Fuck's _sake_ , Azira _-ffffaaagh_! Where did you learn- _agh_! to do this? Do I even wanna know?" The demon's thighs are already shaking, trying to keep his hips aloft while searching for _more_ even as hes wanting to thrust into the curled fist in front.

"You've teased me about being an epicurean for _thousands_ of years, my dear. Did you think I never bothered to find out what any of this felt like?" Aziraphale takes a bite of Crowley's firm arse cheek and removes his hand, turning the demon around and laying him out on the counter. 

Prim as ever, Aziraphale sits on the vacated barstool and drags Crowley bodily across the surface to once again take him apart with hands and tongue. The angel sinks his mouth down over Crowley's length and tongues at it playfully enough that Crowley is chasing every retreat with a thrust and gasp. Soon, Crowley has grabbed the plump hand clamped over his hip and is holding it with a death grip while the other angelic palm slides up the length of his torso to tease at his lips. A quick glance down shows that the angel is expecting him to let those fingers inside, so Crowley obediently opens up with a whine and sucks at the thick digits, wetting them thoroughly. Aziraphale's tongue on the underside of his cock is maddening, applying just enough pressure with the gentle friction of texture to leave him choking on his own spit without pushing up over the edge.

"Please, angel. Inside, these, _yessss_ ," he pants, writhing more as Aziraphale laves the flat of his tongue up from arsehole to the tip of his cock, worrying it between a thumb and forefinger and then slides his middle finger inside and curves it up. Crowley shouts with it, body jolting from the dual stimulation, but Aziraphale is hardly done. He sinks his mouth down again, sucking hard once, twice, and mere seconds later, Crowley's entire body tenses and releases in a full-body writhe as he comes, a silent scream stealing his breath as his body seems to empty out from the soles of his feet. His fingers knot in the angel's hair and he can barely manage the thought to not _yank_ on the curls when Aziraphale refuses to let up, barreling him toward overstimulation.

Aziraphale watches, greedy and rapt, his lips still sucking the throbbing cock between them until Crowley is shuddering away from oversensitivity. "Fuck, please, angel. Bed," the demon sits up with some struggle and grabs at Aziraphale, dragging him up for a kiss. 

Aziraphale scoops Crowley up against himself, walking blindly through the flat to the demon's bedside while they kiss, tongues battling and teeth scraping. Aziraphale drops Crowley in the bed with a bounce, banishes the last of their clothing, and crawls onto him. "I've half a mind to put a demon trap under my bed at the bookshop, you know. To teach you a lesson about not coming when called." Crowley groans at the image of it, suddenly wanting that _very badly_. "I'll keep you there 'til this lockdown business is over, and then some. To keep my bed warm and my boredom abated, you see." 

Crowley quakes at that, eyes widening with absolute desire. "Fuck, _yes_ angel, anything. Should have been doing this the whole time, _please_ , yes," he squirms under the angel's heavenly weight, completely blissed out. "Cant believe you want this, me. After all this time."

"My dear, I never stopped. But endangering your life wasnt worth it. Not to me. I was willing to wait." Aziraphale ducks his head and fastens his mouth around a pink nipple, worrying it with his teeth a little which earns him a ragged gasp. Crowley squirms under his weight, hands buried in his cotton-tuft hair again. He wants to be kissed, but also wants everything else he's feeling to continue. "All in good time, my love. We have all the time in the world, you know." 

"I know, angel. Say that again." 

"Hmm. My love," Aziraphale smiles and captures Crowley's mouth again, adjusting their hips until he sinks two fingers in with a slow, arduous press that steals the demon's breath. 

"My turn?" 

"Oh, angel. _Yessss_." 


End file.
